Postcards from Richard Nixon
by Elske
Summary: I can't help it: Darcy/Mr Simpson is my Degrassi OTP. So there.  & a love story in love letters.


Dear Mr Simpson:

I'm probably the last person in the world you want to hear from, so I won't be upset if you don't write back to me. I'm not signing this, just in case…you can throw it away if you want to and you won't get in any more trouble. I can't apologize enough for all that I put you and your family through. If it's any consolation, I've screwed up my own life enough to have to run away to another continent to avoid facing the past. Just in case you want to write back, my return address is on the other side of the postcard. I just wanted to thank you for being the only person I could trust when I needed someone.

[* * *]

Dear Mr Simpson:

I can't believe you actually wrote me back! I was so excited to get your letter I was actually dancing around the mail-room. The only other person who ever writes is Claire. My parents are too busy, she says, and the less that's to be said about Peter the better.

Do you know I've been teaching here in Kenya? It's an amazing experience. I used to think that being a teacher would be the worst job in the world, but I actually almost like it. I would like it better if I were better at it! Do you have any advice for me? Sometimes when I see all those eyes staring at me I get so nervous, like I can't remember what I'm going to say or even who I am, everything goes blank and it's like time stops and I forget how to breathe.

Besides hauling water and building buildings and teaching English, we're also taking classes. They're really easy compared to Degrassi, but please don't tell any of my teachers here I said that.

I miss some things about Toronto. I miss decent hot showers and I miss Claire and I miss you. I probably shouldn't admit that, but it's the truth. I'm not your student anymore, so I can't get you into any more trouble, right? I don't want to screw everything up again.

Sometimes I think all I'm good for is screwing things up.

Thanks for listening, Mr Simpson.

Yours, Darcy

[* * *]

Dear Mr Simpson:

Do you know, I don't even know if you're a Christian or not? It's a funny thing to think about. What's even funnier is that I don't even know if I'm a Christian or not anymore. I think about the Friendship Club and the youth group at our church and even Claire, and how I'll never live up to their expectations anymore, how I'll never live up to my own expectations anymore, and I don't think God is listening. Maybe God is dead. But this is a Christian mission school so I have to keep my opinions on that to myself.

Thank you for your advice about teaching! I think I'm getting better at it. I can't believe I'll be graduating in a few months! The best part is that I have a chance to stay on here in Kenya for at least another year, if I want to – and I really do think I want to. There's an orphanage that's offering a few internships for next year. I've discovered I really do love working with the children.

I'm not in any hurry to get back home.

Claire says things are bad with our parents. I don't want to deal with that. Isn't that so selfish of me? I really am a horrible person, Mr Simpson. It's a wonder you have anything to do with me at all! Claire needs me, but I think these orphans need me more. I don't want to be a bad influence on her, besides.

I know you almost got divorced once. That must have been dreadful. I'm glad things worked out with you and Emma's mom. I hope I didn't make it worse, having a crush on you and everything.

I can't believe I just admitted that. Please destroy this letter after you read it so no one else finds out.

(I could blot that sentence out, but I don't really want to.)

Yours, Darcy.

[* * *]

Dear Mr Simpson:

I'm sure you've already heard about this, because I bet it's in all the newspapers in TO and on the television and everything. I got a long-distance phone call from Canada last week, and I was expecting it would be my parents (and part of me was hoping it was you), but it was a lawyer.

They finally caught the "Roofie Rapist". There were thirty-two of us. Thirty-two of us. It doesn't seem to be so significant, just one of thirty-two girls raped by one sick psycho. It almost seems like a trifle, just one of thirty-two, no big deal. But one of the co-ordinators of the school here and I drove for, like, years to the capital city and I got to go on a video-chat and give a deposition.

He's going to jail. The man who raped me. He took my innocence and he destroyed my life and he's going to jail.

And I'm just one of thirty-two.

I think God is definitely dead, Mr Simpson. You didn't answer my question, about being a Christian, but I'm glad you didn't because I think you'd be disappointed in me if you were. I don't want you to be disappointed in me.

Once again, thank you for listening.

Thank you for being someone I can trust.

Love, Darcy.

[* * *]

Dear Mr Simpson:

I never would have thought about trying to contact some of the other thirty-two girls to talk about it, but when you suggested it I thought it was just brilliant. I phoned the lawyer, long distance, and she thought it was a good idea too. I'm emailing back and forth with a couple of the other girls. Some of them are in group therapy together in Toronto. I feel less insignificant, for hurting.

Guess what – I graduated last week! AND I got the internship at the orphanage! The director is an American who is really nice. She's a minister of some denomination I've never heard of, Universalist something, and their mission statement is so, just, nice, I think the people at my parent's church would call them pagans or heretics.

She says maybe God's just sleeping.

It's my eighteenth birthday in exactly one month. Not that I'm hinting for a present or anything, but a phonecall from you would be nice!

Love, Darcy.

[* * * ]

Dear Archie:

It seems really strange to call you that, even though you told me that I could! I think you'll always be "Mr Simpson" in my head, for a while, anyway.

Claire sent me a necklace and my parents sent me pearl earrings and Lisa gave me a framed picture of all the staff and the kids here at the orphanage, but your phone call was the best birthday present I've ever had. Thank you thank you thank you!

I can't believe your stepdaughter married my ex-boyfriend. I'm still trying to process that. It's almost as difficult as calling you Archie! It's just surreal. I don't know how to explain any of it.

(I'm praying that things will get better between you and Christine. I'm trying to be good and unselfish, you see. I know you truly love her and I'm just a former student screw up in another country on another continent. I understand what you mean about Emma being the glue that held your family together. With what Claire writes me about our parents, I wonder if I was the glue in our family? At least all my screw ups gave them a common cause.)

Working here at the orphanage is amazing. I wish you could meet these kids, Archie! I want to take them all home. And teach them about a God that loves and welcomes. Lisa does church here, you know, and they begin every service: whoever you are, wherever you come from, whomever you love, we welcome you. Isn't that beautiful?

I'm Darcy Edwards. I come from Toronto. I love…

I'm not brave enough to finish that sentence. I'll write again soon, Archie.

Love, Darcy.

[* * *]

Dear Archie:

I'm trying to figure out what to do with the rest of my life.

You know what I would do, if I could do anything?

…it's silly. I'm not going to tell you.

I might study to become a minister, though.

I keep so many secrets. You'd hate me if you knew.

Why don't you hate me, Archie?

Love, Darcy.

[* * *]

Dear Archie:

I don't mind that you forgot about the time difference and phoned in the middle of the night; it was so good to hear your voice it was worth three or four whole nights of sleep! Lisa scolded me but she was smiling when she did it so I know she wasn't really that mad.

She told me about another opportunity at an orphanage in India, another internship to do next year, if I'm still too afraid to go back to Toronto.

I couldn't tell you on the phone, although I almost did, three times, but I lost my nerve.

I'm in love with you, Archie Simpson.

I'm in love with you. I sleep with your letters under my pillow like the stupid teenage girl that I am, and a wicked part of me is hoping that you'll go through with the divorce this time and that you'll be waiting for me at the airport in Toronto in December with a bouquet of yellow roses and a promise ring because somewhere, somehow, a part of you could love me too.

I know you don't.

But I wish you did.

I'll understand if you stop writing.

-D.

[* * *]

Dear Archie:

Please disregard the contents of that last letter. I was sleep-deprived and obviously not in my right mind when I dropped it in the mailbox. I tried to bribe two government officials to retrieve it for me and almost got arrested.

Yours, Darcy.

[* * *]

Dear Archie:

I can't stop crying, but it's the good kind of crying, honestly. I haven't been able to stop crying since I got off the phone with you last night. Lisa let me cry all over her; she's more like a friend than any other ministers I've ever known. I thought it was horrible of me to be excited about the end of a marriage…but just thinking that you might really like me back, really like me that way, I get all shivery inside and I can't stop smiling, even when I'm crying.

You're welcome to come visit me in Mumbai. With or without flowers or a ring. Just seeing you in person would be enough.

I love you, Archie Simpson.

Love, Darcy


End file.
